


One Time, In Pompeii

by Sforzie



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is bad at time management, Aziraphale just likes food okay, Episode 3 Cold Open, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Holiday drinking, One Shot, Pre-Arrangement (Good Omens), Wings, author will use any excuse to write about ancient Rome, naptime with Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: A few years after their last meeting in Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley bump into each other in Pompeii, on the eve of something Very Bad happening.(There just wasn't enough time spent in Rome with them for my liking okay so here you go.)





	One Time, In Pompeii

79 A.D.  
Pompeii

Aziraphale was, as ever, prone to being distracted by his stomach. He didn’t _need_ to eat, of course not, but indulging in filling it was a pass-time that made staying on Earth overall much more enjoyable. If pressed, he might even argue that he did _need_ to eat because it made him happy. The topic had not really come up much in the last few thousand years, though, and for that the angel was glad. Having to think about it too much spoiled his appetite.

And so, as he had arrived in Pompeii a bit earlier than he had expected, the angel had decided to partake in a bit of local cuisine.

He was standing at a food counter not too far from the Forum. It was a good location for eavesdropping, and so Aziraphale was doing a bit of that as well while eating. As near as he could tell from listening, the locals had no idea that anything bad was about to happen. Probably best that way, the office upstairs would say.

Someone was watching him, though. He could feel their gaze on his backside. Or perhaps his right side--it was difficult to be precise with the crowds. It was the toga, most likely. He knew it would garner him some unwanted attention, but he did have fashion standards. He wasn’t going to muck about in a port city wearing a grungy old tunic. His watcher was most likely a pickpocket, Aziraphale supposed, trying to figure out where his coin purse was. Joke was on the pickpocket, wasn’t it, he could just pull a fresh coin out of the ether to pay for his goods.

A familiar voice chimed near his left ear. “What the devil are you eating?” 

Oh, not a pickpocket, then. Just a Crowley. Aziraphale squashed down an internal flash of familiarity invoked affection and managed not to smile immediately at the sound of the demon’s voice. He looked to his left as Crowley leaned against the lunch counter. The demon placed a coin on the counter and asked for a mug of wine. He was doing a slightly better job of fitting in, Aziraphale mused, though the coal black color of his tunic would likely draw almost as much attention as his own crisp white toga.

“Hello, Crowley,” the angel said. He allowed himself a bit of a purse-lipped smile.

“Hello, angel.” Crowley nodded at the man working the counter as a mug of wine was dispensed. “So?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale had become distracted by looking at the demon’s hair. It was notably a bit longer than it had been when they had last crossed paths, and he had begun to wonder why it always got so curly when it began to grow out--

“What are you eating? It stinks to high Heaven.”

“Oh, it’s garum,” the angel said. He dabbed a bit of bread into a bowl of murky brown liquid and popped it into his mouth. The flavor was wonderful--fishy and salty and savory all at the same time. “You know, fermented fish sauce.”

The demon’s nose wrinkled, slightly displacing his colored glasses. “That’s disgusting. Why are you eating it?”

“It’s actually quite good,” Aziraphale assured his companion. “Very popular around the empire. The local variety is made just outside of the city.”

“That explains the smell,” Crowley muttered into his mug. “What are you doing here, other than stuffing your face?”

“Working,” Aziraphale said. “You?”

“Working,” the demon said in an echo. He lowered his voice, not that the nearby humans would have really been listening to them. “Word from the office is that something big is happening tomorrow afternoon. There’s a few people I need to encourage to get out of Pompeii before then.”

“Oh. To be honest, I’m doing much the same.” Aziraphale took another bite of soggy bread. That was mostly the truth, so it wasn’t really lying. “Any idea on what is supposed to be happening? They wouldn’t be specific with me, said something about not wanting to spoil the surprise. Just said I needed to be out of the city before lunch.”

“Mm, no, no explicit information.” Crowley shrugged. “Just something along the lines of very bad, get out of town weather.”

The angel picked up another piece of bread. “My people or yours, I wonder?”

“Your people really do like to mess with the weather more than mine.” The demon tilted his head to look down at him, and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of bright yellow snake eyes. “Floods and the like.”

“I don’t need to be reminded, thank you.”

“Yeah, no. I know.” The demon set his empty mug down on the counter and looked away. “You got any plans for later? After work and all.”

“Nothing in particular,” Aziraphale said. “You?”

“No, but that’s one good thing about Rome. Lots of holidays. More gods to celebrate than you can shake a finger at in disapproval.”

“I wouldn’t--” He hesitated. He probably would do that, wouldn’t he. “Do you think it’s right? They don’t really like it upstairs when there’s talk about the humans worshipping other deities.”

“We know they aren’t really real,” the demon said, his tone dismissive. “So, I don’t see why it should matter.”

Crowley really could be dreadfully coercive with the truth when he wanted to be. Aziraphale settled for making a noncommittal noise, rather than outright agreeing with him. Less chance of getting in trouble for that.

“What about tonight, then? It’s the Vulcanalia--you know, festival to the forge and all that. Big bonfire and lots of wine.” The demon gave him a pointed look. “Probably some nice snacks.”

Holiday snacks were usually a nice treat, Aziraphale thought. But-- “Oh, you and your temptations. You must stop doing that, Crowley.”

“‘Fraid not,” his companion said with a grin.

“And the weather is very hot and dry, isn’t it? Seems like a bad idea to start a big bonfire in the middle of a city in those conditions.”

“That’s kind of the point, angel,” Crowley said. “They hold the festival to try and keep Vulcan from burning all their grain stores and… you know, all their other stuff.”

“It still seems unwise to me.” Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. “I’ll meet you back here at sunset. How does that sound?”

For a moment Crowley did not respond, he just stared at Aziraphale’s shoulder. Then he blinked and nodded. “Yeah, sounds good to me. See you then.”

And then the demon was gone into the afternoon crowds.

As promised, the pair reunited as the sun was going down over the bay of Naples. It was still quite hot out, and Aziraphale was quite certain that he could hear the very firmament above them straining and cracking in the summer swelter. Probably just his imagination, though.

He ordered a jug of wine from the food counter, and watched, perplexed and a touch annoyed, as Crowley leaned in and sniffed at him.

“What are you doing? We’re in public, Crowley.”

“Seeing if you still stink of fish sauce.”

The angel grumped. “I’ll have you know, I took a respite in the baths not long ago.”

“What, with all those humans around to look at you?”

“They didn’t notice me.” He frowned as the demon sniffed again. “Well?”

“No, no fish guts smell. Just the usual smell.”

Crowley set a few coins down for the jug of wine, and poured them each a cupful of the dark red liquid. Aziraphale took a sip, and then grimaced.

“Oh, dear, that’s a bit stronger than usual, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” the demon said. “I un-diluted the wine.”

“Why would you do that?” Aziraphale asked as he took another sip. The demon shrugged.

“If I know that tomorrow is going to be a rough day for me, or at least a rough early afternoon, then I’m going to do my best to enjoy myself right now. Might be too inconvenienced later to enjoy myself.”

It sounded almost logical when the demon put it like that. “And my involvement?”

He shrugged again. “You’re the only person around here I know.”

They split the contents of the jug, and eventually ended up sitting on the roof of one of the temples. The demon and angel sat, quietly observing the flickering of the massive bonfire and the procession of humans making their way up to the blaze.

“I don’t--I don’t--”

Mostly quietly.

“I don’t see why--” Aziraphale stopped and started again. The demon tipped his head to the side, waiting for a continuation of the thought, but Aziraphale was too drunk to keep track of the thought and stopped once more.

“We can’t just tell them something bad is going to happen,” Crowley said. “Because… because…”

“Ineffable,” the angel said with a hiccup.

“They wouldn’t believe you anyway,” the demon said. He gestured at Aziraphale. “I mean, look at you. They’d think you were some kind of…” He squinted.

“Crazy person.”

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded vigorously in agreement. “Crazy person. I mean, more than normal. No ‘fense, angel, but most people who cross paths with you think you’re a little odd.”

Aziraphale had noticed this, certainly, but usually ignored the looks. “What’bout you, Crowley?”

The demon grinned toothily. “I know you’re a little odd, angel.”

He sighed and shifted his attention back to the bonfire. The flames were strangely hypnotic. He wondered if that was due to the alcohol. Did it have a similar effect on Crowley? A quick glance offered no clue to that. The demon was leaning forward now, elbows on his bony knees and brow scrunched low toward his colored glasses.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” Crowley hissed out after a few minutes.

“What, the fire? I thought it was pretty, m’self.”

“What they’re doing with it,” the demon said.

Aziraphale squinted down at the procession and the bonfire. Citizens of Pompeii were approaching the fire and tossing small animals and fish into the flames.

“Yes, Crowley, that’s how sacri-sacri-sacrimice...how offerings work, dear.”

“I know, but the fish didn’t ask for it!”

The angel’s drunken mind had been waylaid by the thought of mice. “Have you had dormice before? Nice little snack. Roast them and dip them in honey. You just eat them in one gulp. Bones and all.” Aziraphale thought that the demon might rather like that kind of snack, what with being a serpent and all.

Instead, Crowley grimaced and hissed at him: “Shut up!”

The demon got to his feet, swaying slightly on the slope of the temple roof.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t just sit here and watch this,” Crowley said. “They start with fish and birds with broken wings and then they’ll be throwing snakes in!”

“I don’t think they use--”

“Have fun tomorrow,” the demon said snappishly, and then turned and staggered off the side of the roof. 

Aziraphale sighed. All the talk of fish and mice had made him feel a bit peckish.

The next morning went by in a bit of a blur. Once the sun came up and he had a spot of breakfast, Aziraphale had been pressed with the urgent need to find certain people in the city and convince them that they needed to take certain valuable manuscripts and get them out of Pompeii before the day ran itself too long. It was a lot of trouble, really, as no one wanted to be bothered early in the morning on the day after a major holiday. He had to persist, though, he had been given a job and he had to do it.

He just wished that they had given him more than half a day’s notice of the job needing to be done. It was just manners, really. Just because things could be done at the speed of thought upstairs did not mean things were so easily accomplished down below. Humans were slow and stubborn and superstitious and really not that keen to listen to him when they were hungover.

_Crowley could probably get them to listen_ , he thought a bit regretfully. 

Aziraphale was painfully aware of the metaphorical clock ticking away in the background. He heard it loud and clear as the midday sun rose high overhead, hot and hateful and making sweat tickle irritatingly at his neck. He had managed to find the last man on his list, but was still trying to follow the awful penmanship of the innkeeper who had given directions to the man’s residence.

He was running late, he could feel it in his very bones, and nothing brought this truth more starkly to light than the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Except, it wasn’t thunder, was it--it couldn’t be, there had been no rain here in weeks. The countryside was dry as tinder. The sky was an empty blue bowl overhead, except for off to the north where the mountain known as Vesuvius quietly loomed.

Except, as the sound of thunder reverberated through him again, the mountain did not seem so quiet. The thunder was not coming from the sky at all. It was coming from the earth below--it was an earthquake.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the mountain.

Getting the last man on his list to cooperate with leaving the city had been a great deal easier than convincing the others. This was, more than likely due to the fact that the top of the mountain had recently cracked open with a tremendous boom and began to spew a thundering dark cloud high into the afternoon sky. People were beginning to panic--and that made them more amenable to being told to leave. 

The cloud coming from the mountain had spread and stretched its canopy over the city of Pompeii, and ash and small hot bits of rock had begun to rain down upon the helpless citizenry. Aziraphale could not help but be reminded of years ago, at Sodom and Gomorrah. The rain of fire and brimstone, the smiting and turning people into salt.. True, Pompeii was not the most pious of cities, but he could not quite think that they had really done enough to justify their destruction.

But that was all business beyond him. He wasn’t even sure who was responsible for what was happening here in Pompeii. After all, both he and Crowley’s superiors had sent them with tasks here. 

Eventually the angel had been standing there in thought so long, still and ignored by the fleeing masses, that a solid layer of ash had begun to accumulate on his head and shoulders. He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of a rooftop collapsing down the street. It was getting late. He should hurry up and find his way out of the city before he had to miracle himself out of harm’s way.

A hand grabbed at the edge of his toga.

“Please!” A woman’s voice cried out to him. “Please, sir, help me! I cannot find my daughter!”

Aziraphale looked down at the woman. She was tiny, tired looking thing with tears in her eyes. He wanted to tell her no, that he had to be leaving now.

But, he couldn’t. It was against his nature to turn his back on her, just as much as it would have been impossible for him to obey if Uriel himself had appeared in the street and told him to strike the woman down.

_I’ll just help her, and then I’ll be on my way_ , Aziraphale told himself.

“Alright, miss, tell me where you last saw her?”

Helping one person became helping two, and then a third with a missing dog, and a fourth who could not extricate her mother-in-law from under the collapsed roof of their home. By the time Aziraphale had run out of people crying out to him for aid, he had run out of time to safely get himself out of Pompeii.

It had begun to grow dark, and the storm coming from Vesuvius had changed. He could feel the change, as sure as anything. 

Aziraphale stared up at the mountain, up at the towering dark cloud, and watched wordlessly as it all began to come tumbling down. The column collapsed and sent a roiling furious cloud of burning gas and ash and pulverized stone down the side of the mountain. Roaring across the land, swallowing everything in its path as it sped toward what remained of Pompeii and its unfortunate population.

He stood there, staring up at it, mind racing along faster than the cloud. The flow was tremendously fast, easily twice as fast as the spritliest steed at the Circus Maximus. There was no way for a human--or an angel toddling along as a human--to possibly hope to outrun the great cloud of death. Aziraphale was torn on what to do. He knew he could just miracle himself to safety. But still being here had been his choice, his bad decision, and he would be more in the right to just own up to his mistake. Wouldn’t he? This was what he got for trying to be nice.

It was going to hurt, though, he thought. A very painful way to lose a body. And he’d been trying so hard to keep this one intact.

The screams of the people of Pompeii reached his ears before the burning cloud did. Pealing out in desperation, and then silenced forever. It stirred in his mind a distant, repressed memory, of an angelic chorus screaming and burning as it too was lost.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to remember that any more than he wanted to witness the brains boiling and bursting in the humans standing yards ahead of him on the rapidly disappearing street. He closed his eyes and moved to cover his ears, but there was not time.

The cloud reached him with a ragged **WHUMPH**. A blast of heat, and then… nothing.

The angel waited for a moment, waited for the agony of his holy spirit being wrenched from his earthly form. It should have been fast and quick and brutal, but nothing happened.

Confused, he opened his eyes, willing his senses back into action. Aziraphale coughed, his mouth tasting of ash and nose tickling with who knew what foulness. Another cough, and the darkness receded from his vision.

Wings, he realized, a great mass of wings, black on the side that was facing him. As they pulled away from around him, like someone drawing back a curtain, he saw the outside of the feathers were nearly white with ash.

“You alright, angel?” The voice that croaked behind him was a relief.

Aziraphale turned around. Crowley was there, of course, looking more or less intact. His black tunic was streaked with white and gray, and his hair and skin were equally maligned.

“I-I’m whole, yes,” Aziraphale said, managing to find his voice. “You look a bit singed though, Crowley.”

The demon cracked a smile. “I’ve been in the hellfire. That was nothing.”

“Well, yes.” The angel dusted off the front of his toga and took a step away. “Thank you, I suppose. Saved me a rather unpleasant discorporation.”

“I know,” was all Crowley said to that. Aziraphale watched the black and gray mess of the demon’s wings sag, and was not blind to the flicker of pain that winced its way across Crowley’s features. The demon’s yellow eyes blinked once as the taller man looked around. “We should get out of here before the next round.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked about. All around them, everything was covered in a thick coating of ash and debris from Vesuvius. It settled in a layer as high as their knees, thankfully obscuring the fates of the humans who had been nearby only minutes before. “Next round?”

“Yeah.” The demon licked the front of his teeth. “I’m going to get out of here, at least. You only get one save from me today.”

_Why did I get one at all_ , Aziraphale wondered, but did not venture to voice the concern. He just nodded, his body suddenly feeling very heavy and weary. Crowley looked tired, too, he thought. That would be the adrenaline leaving their bodies, now that the immediate danger had passed. 

The mountain was still fuming nearby, though.

The demon didn’t talk for awhile after that. He just turned and started walking, easily pushing through the mountain’s guts. Aziraphale followed. He did not know how Crowley knew where he was going, or if he really knew at all. For the moment, and just for the moment, he had to trust that the demon would lead him out of harm's way, if only because the demon was leading himself out of harm’s way. He briefly worried what someone might say if they were to notice Crowley and his big sagging black wings. 

But, there was no one left around to see the wings. Just Aziraphale himself, and the demon. The humans were dead, and he could feel that their souls had already begun to leave the area. Besides, if a human _had_ seen them making their way along, they would probably not really have understood what they were seeing. After all, this was a stressful situation, and stress made men’s minds play tricks on them.

The night had long set in before they were clear of the destruction that had infested Pompeii. It made little difference, honestly, the sky was so blotted out by the clouds from the mountain that the setting of the sun was only something Aziraphale could feel in his spirit but not see with his eyes. The had made their way south out of the city, ignored by other evacuees, until they had reached a sad little inn on the side of the road. It was crowded with Pompeii’s frightened masses, and no private rooms were available. There was, however, a free stall open in the stable, and shoving extra coins into the hands of the innkeeper had eventually gained them that small respite. 

Aziraphale had peeled off the heavy outer layer of his toga--it really was still too hot out to keep wearing the thing--and soaked strips of the cloth to use as rags. The water in the stable’s troughs was repulsive, but it was all he had access to at the moment. It was enough to let them clean the mess from their hands and faces. 

Crowley was still acting quiet and sullen, sitting with his back to the angel, wings keeping them separated. 

Aziraphale frowned as he watched his companion. “You brushed it off, Crowley, but it still… it still hurt you, didn’t it?”

The demon just grunted and wouldn’t look at him. “The hellfire still hurts, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me, Aziraphale.”

“No, I mean it. You shouldn’t have done that--” Aziraphale heard the woeful tone in his own voice. “You could have been ripped to pieces.”

“I’m fine. I said I’m fine, and so I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

The angel sighed. “Thank you.” He held out his hands. “You could, at least, let me make sure you aren’t secreting any wounds away? To put my mind at ease. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Crowley did not verbally respond. His head drooped further, and his wings relaxed against the hay covered floor. Aziraphale scooted a little closer. He ran his hands lightly over the bones of the demon’s wings. Everything felt intact there. He fluffed up the covert feathers a bit, making sure nothing escaped his review. 

Aziraphale studied his companion’s wings as he searched them for injuries. The feathers were marvelously dark, like little pieces of the night sky ripped out and sewn together for the demon’s finery. He wondered, but could not recall, if this was a beauty that Crowley had possessed before his Fall, or something more peculiarly demonic in nature. Demons were not supposed to have any beauty. That was a gift of Heaven, wasn’t it? Aziraphale was increasingly unsure.

“Do you remember what you looked like, before you fell?” he asked. He knew that it was an inappropriate question, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the demon would answer. It had been some four thousand years, after all, and--

“What? Of course I do.” Crowley did not lift his head. 

“Yes. Of course. My apologies.” The angel smoothed the black feathers back into place, plucking out a frayed and damaged plume here and there. He used a rag to wipe off the remaining dirt and ash, until the black feathers gleamed in the dim torchlight. Overall, Aziraphale surmised, his companion was in remarkably good shape after facing down the mountain. But, something was off. While everything looked fine, there was a feeling that Aziraphale could not shake as he gently placed his hands where the scapular feathers disappeared into the tattered back of the demon’s tunic. It was as though the destructive force of the mountain had shaken the man’s spirit loose from the tethers of his physical form.

_Do take care of yourself, Crowley,_ the angel thought. _I would hate to lose track of you again_. 

__“Well, do I pass inspection?”_ _

__“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pulled his hands away. “A little rough around the edges, but nothing catastrophic.” He smiled, hoping Crowley wouldn’t take it the wrong way._ _

__“That’s good to hear.” The demon sat up and drew his wings in around himself. “Nothing a good nap can’t fix, then.”_ _

__“What? No--” Aziraphale grunted softly as the demon flopped bonelessly against him. “Oh dear.”_ _

__The demon’s eyes were already closed._ _

__He sighed inwardly. Crowley was the sort to nap for days if no one came around to poke him with a stick and wake him up. Still, the demon had done a good, stupid deed on his behalf, and Aziraphale supposed that had earned him at least a few hours of rest. He pressed his palm against the red tangle of the demon’s hair._ _

__“Pleasant dreams, Crowley. Do not worry: I will watch over you until they come to kick us out.”_ _

__It was the least he could do._ _


End file.
